


Oblivion

by ea-stofnar (SinsofYouth)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, Blood Magic, Creature Draco Malfoy, Dubious Consent, If you squint this is a Christmas fic, M/M, Original Character Death(s), Sex Magic, Vague Magic Rituals, top!draco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-16
Updated: 2016-11-16
Packaged: 2018-08-31 07:18:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8569360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SinsofYouth/pseuds/ea-stofnar
Summary: An auror raid on Christmas day goes horribly, horribly wrong.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [geminifaerie](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=geminifaerie).



> Hello!  
> This is a gift fic for the lovely geminifaerie for the owlpost gift exchange.  
> I'm sorry, but this one grew into a monster. I started it over four different times, but it just kept winding up the same. I hope you'll forgive the violence and enjoy the steamy bits.  
> Warnings for non/dub-con and implied minor character death.  
> Oh, this is unbeta-d. I'm still on the hunt for this elusive creature, but for now it's just me. So all mistakes are mine. :)  
> 

"Any movement yet?" Harry murmured as he move to join the three red-cloaked figures crouching in the snow. He'd just gotten the summons fifteen minutes ago, a single sheet of paper crackling into his living room. 

It contained a briefing, a set of coordinates and the instructions: 'Come without delay'.

He'd barely had time to scribble a note to the Weasley's before throwing on his robes and apparating to this snowy slice of paradise just outside of Kelso.

Harry crouched down, his eyes darting to the home a stones throw from the Disillusioned bunker they'd dug into the snow.

Fennik, the auror to Harry's left and a man with a perpetually severe expression, flicked his eyes in Harry's direction. He nodded to Harry in silent greeting before turning his attention back to the house.

It was dark inside, the windows unlit. Harry couldn't even see the tell-tale glow of a fire from where he knelt. Odd that a family this far North wouldn't have a fire in the grate, even if they'd already gone to bed.

"Bloody Hell, we've got to babysit the Golden Boy too?" Jorgin muttered tersely from Harry's other side, pulling his cloak closer around himself, jostling Harry from his musings.

Jorgin's partner, Dawlish; a young woman with black hair and limpid green eyes, was chewing silently at her chapped lips. She elbowed Jorgin and arched an eyebrow at him in the way only close friends could. Jorgin rolled his eyes at her, but Harry saw his scowl soften slightly around the edges. 

"If there's anything in that house, we'll all bloody see something sooner or later." He said, unrepentant, to Dawlish. He glanced back at Harry, his expression back to mulish. "I thought you'd have Christmas off for sure, Potter. Did you feel like slumming it this year with the rest of us unremarkable little toadies?" 

Harry was pretty sure Jorgin wasn't mad at him, just pissed off he got picked for this wild goose chase of a raid on Christmas Day; instead of being...well, just about anywhere else.

Harry wasn't all that happy about this assignment either, but aurors with spouses got first picks during the Christmas holiday. So right now he was just as stuck as the other three, trying his best not to think about the dinner he was missing at the Weasley's, the hot cidar and potatoes and ham. Mrs. Weasley always put on a good ham...

"Do you really think it really ate the whole family?" Dawlish asked, obviously trying to change the subject, but with a wide-eyed curiosity that reminded Harry this was only her second year on the force. 

She reminded Harry of himself at that age, all energy and naïve enthusiasm. The last twelve years had mellowed him somewhat, taught him that sometimes, all the good intentions in the world weren't enough. Sometimes you just lost people.

Jorgin shook his head. "Nah, just a loony Muggle bint. Lonely and making up stories so she won't have to spend Christmas talking to herself." 

“Shut it, all of you." Fennik snapped. "You're aurors, not an old lady's knitting club. Act like it.” 

"Yes, sir," The three murmured with varying degrees of deference and the group lapsed into a tense silence, broken only by the rustling of cloaks and the staccato swishes of wands through the bitter evening air to refresh warming charms every few minutes, the weather was that cold.

Dawlish jerked suddenly and let out a small gasp. The jolt was slight, like she'd been surprised, or startled from sleep. Three sets of eyes turned to her.

Harry started to ask if she was okay. But Dawlish was already leaning forward, eyes wide, flicking almost wildly back and forth across the house's wide, unlit windows.

"Did you see that?" She whispered excitedly, pointing to the house.

Harry peered closer, saw Fennik and Jorgin mirror him on either side. He couldn't see anything but darkness beyond the dark glass and undrawn white curtains.

“See what?” Jorgin leaned over slightly.

"Something 's moving. I saw something in there. And I think it was holding a body." Dawlish insisted. She looked to each of them in turn, looking at last to Jorgin, her expression pleading. "It's in there. I swear I'm not making this up." 

"What' in there?" Fennik asked, his face stony. "What did it look like?" 

Dawlish looked a little sheepish. "Human?" 

Harry sighed internally. It wasn't Dawlish's fault. It was dark, she was young and most of the more dangerous magical creatures had the ability to at least appear human. But a vague description like that was just barely better than having no description at all.

"All right." Fennik pressed his lips together and drew his wand. "We'll go in for a closer look. Jorgin, you’re with me. Potter, you take Dawlish in through the back in case whatever's in that house tries to make a break for it. We'll give you time to get into position. I'll give the signal. I don't want any heroics from any of you. Stick to the book on this one and we'll all be home in time for Boxing Day."

Harry drew his own wand and nodded, grateful at least to be moving again. He could feel his blood beginning to hum, the precursor to adrenaline that always settled over him before a tactical action, even after a hundred raids. Maybe he'd still feel it when he was Fennik's age, if he was still doing field work well into his 50's. Merlin, he hoped not.

Wordlessly, Harry cast a series of more complex Disillusionment Charms over himself and Dawlish. And then they were moving, circling around the house towards the back, crunching through the brittle crusts of icy snow, trying to stay low and out of site.

They paused once they've reached the back door, tiny and painted red, waiting for Fennik's signal. Harry, on point with his shoulder to the door, glanced back to take stalk of Dawlish. She was practically vibrating beside him, here eyes intense on the door, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Her fingers nervously wrapped and unwrapped themselves around the haft of her wand. Harry watched as she slowly cocked her head to one side, like she was listening to something Harry can't hear.

Harry frowned and whispered her name. He waved one hand in front of her face. Dawlish blinked and her eyes snapped to Harry; wide, like she was surprised to see him standing there.

'Focus' Harry mouths and she nods. Harry wasn't particularly reassured. Though he was starting to feel a certain amount of empathy for his auror partners the first few over-excitable years of his own career.

Dawlish would learn soon enough.

His wand vibrated twice against his palm: the signal. 

Harry tried the knob. It wasn't locked. He spared a moment for concern, but the quick detection spell he cast revealed no tampering or traps. He pushed open the rickety door and crept into what must've been the kitchen. The paint was a cheery lemon yellow. The handles on the cabinets were bright red and round. Little clown noses drilled into the lightly stained oak.

Harry sent a fleeting thought for the people who lived here, hoping he'll find more than corpses this time 'round. And then he was ghosting through the room on the balls of his feet; the drifting snow swirling around his cloak as it billowed around him. Dawlish was a few steps behind him, the minute creak of the floorboards betrayed her to Harry's sensitive ears. But she'd learn. 

Harry stepped through the archway at the far end of the dark kitchen and into the home's derelict living room. He noted the open front door and two sets of snowy boot prints training down the long hallway just as Jorgin started screaming.

"Harry get your ass in here!" Fennik bellowed angrily and then Harry heard a crash down the hallway, accompanied by Jorgin's surprised yelp.

Harry abandoned stealth. He sprinted after the quickly dwindling footprints, Dawlish on his heels.

They burst into a room at the far end of the house, into what appears to have once been a lounge. Harry spotted Fennik and Jorgin immediately. Fennik had the other man pinned to the wall, both hands fisted in his cloak. He was hissing in Jorgin's face. Jorgin, for his part, looked absolutely dumbstruck and was shaking his head, repeating over and over. "It wasn't me. It wasn't me." 

A dark smudge in the corner of the room caught Harry's eye. A darker patch of darkness, circular in shape, large enough to be deliberate. Deliberately what, though? 

"What's going on-?" Harry started to ask asked.

The vampire among them suddenly, a gliding shape forged of blackness and power. 

Fennik is the quickest of the four aurors; though Harry's only a split second behind; their instincts honed with the decades. Harry watches Fennik turning, bringing up his wand to case even before the creature's feet had struck the cold floor behind him. The speed and precision is incredible to witness, the reason he's one of the Ministry's best.

But it's already too late.

The creature, aided by magic or nature, was faster. It reached out and grasped Fennik by the wand hand, stopping his wrist mid incantation. And, before anyone could so much as blink, it pulled off the man's hand; with no more effort than a child might pluck the wings from an insect. 

Fennik let out a quiet gurgle of surprised pain and gaped at the bloody stump where his hand used to be.

Harry tucked his own shock away for later. Furiously, he rushed through the last syllables of his own incantation and his wand spat out a crackle of blue energy at the creature. A second later Jorgin and Dawlish's spells emerge, red and white respectively, flashing brightly in the dark, illuminating the creature's lean figure and white hair in brilliant contrast.

Harry felt a pang of recognition. The back seemed familiar, a phantom from nearly ten years past. But this too he shoved aside for later examination. Right now, the priority was suppression, perhaps termination if the subject continued to be uncooperative.

Harry leaned forward, his muscles bunching to charge the creature, a stunning spell quick off his tongue.

But the figure was already moving, with speed almost too remarkable to believe. Harry blinked and the creature had seemed to teleport itself the few feet to where Jorgin stood, his back still to the wall. It pulled Jorgin to itself, turning him bodily so his back was facing the rest of the room, Harry and Dawlish...and Harry's stunning spell. Jorgin's body seized when the magical hit him square in the shoulders. And then his body went limp.

During these few seconds, Fennik had dropped to his knees and was scrambling for his wand, holding his useless stump into his left side. The figure looked down at him and laughed, a cruel, pitiless sound. It casually planted one foot on Fennik's shoulder and gave a light push. But the push was enough to send Fennik careening across the room to hit the far wall with an audible 'crack'.

"Dawlish," Harry yelled, sprinting the first few steps towards the unconscious Jorgin. "Go around, help me flank it." 

From behind Jorgin's unconscious form came a shockingly familiar drawl, one Harry hadn't heard in almost twelve years. "Dawlish...go to sleep." 

Harry's head whipped around and he gazed, horrified as Dawlish took one hesitant step forward before her wand dribbled from her fingers. She swayed in place, shaking her head, forcing herself to stay upright. And then it clicked in Harry's mind. She'd been charmed. 

"Get out of here." Harry shouted, pulling up sharply. He couldn't flank the creature on his own, not while it had Jorgin to use as a shield. "Get out." 

The girl looked up at Harry, her eyelids hung heavily and her head bobbed. She shook her head once more, her expression pleading, miserable with understanding before she toppled wordlessly to the floor. 

The sound of Jorgin's incapacitated body hitting the ground came a moment later, drawing Harry's attention back to the creature. Harry's stomach dropped. 

Draco Malfoy, one time school rival, former philanthropist...victim of kidnapping...presumed dead...met Harry's gob-smacked stare. A smirk twisted up the corner of the 'dead man's' mouth.

"Harry...Potter..." Draco spoke and his voice emerged, the eternally familiar drawl. But there was something under the voice, masquerading beneath the familiar, like a second note, or a dissonant harmony. That note seemed to crescendo even after Draco had finished speaking. It warped the air and reached like grasping fingers into Harry's ears, but warm and somehow soothing.

Harry eased into a defensive stance. He stepped back; one step, then two, giving himself enough distance, enough time to react if Draco decided to stop playing coy. He was the only one of the team left, but Draco's best weapon had been surprise. Even with his superior-speed, Harry was confident he could stun Draco before he could incapacitate him. Merlin what a gamble. Maybe he could still savage this, maybe he could talk Draco, or whatever creature was wearing Draco's face, into surrendering.

"What happened to you?" Harry asked, searching for a topic, some kind of common ground. "We searched for years. We thought we'd find your body or something, but...what the Hell happened?" 

If he expected a monologue, a grand retelling of the last, lost decade, Harry was disappointed. Draco just chuckled softly. 

"Poor little Potter." He said. "He can't figure anything out unless it's explained to him. How about I summarize?" His lips drew back and a set of grotesque fangs sat, resplendent, extending out from where Draco's incisors would have been when he was human. When he was human. Not a... 

"Vampire." 

He'd suspected. There had been theories floating around, but that didn't make the revelation, the sharp slap of it, any less horrifying. Draco Malfoy had become a vampire, whether it was by choice, or force, it was so. 

Draco threw his head back and laughed in a way he never would've when he was human, free and careless and cruel. The vampire brought his hands up for a few soft claps before cocking his head to one side, studying Harry like one would a precocious puppy who'd just piddled on the carpet.

"Gold star, Harry." He said, still grinning like a hatter, incisors gleaming the in dim light. "Spot on. No wonder you're one of the ministry's prized aurors." He turned a scornful look down at Jorgin, sprawled in a heap at his feet. "It’s a shame the same can’t be said for the company you keep."

"It's not too late, Malfoy." Harry narrowed his eyes, bringing his wand level with his jaw, his elbow high. It was a show of force he knew Draco wouldn't miss. "You still have a choice: surrender and live out the rest of your existence with ministry protection. I'll settle this, with the ministry. We can walk away from this, you and I."

Malfoy's eyes flicked from Harry's face to his wand and back again. His smile changed then, grew conniving, and perhaps a little bit curious. 

"What do you want, Harry?" He asked slowly, conversationally, but his tone once again held that dulcet second note and the buzzing in Harry's head returned. "Do you want to clap me in irons?" 

Draco clicked his tongue, eyes wide, bright. "Are you determined to drag me back to the ministry, cursing and wailing for my freedom?" He took a step towards Harry and his voice seemed to expand, fill the room until it reverberated back in on itself, echoing almost painfully in Harry's ears.

"Do you want to watch me beg?"

Harry took an involuntary step backwards, his ears ringing; his thoughts blurry and confused. "We were just following up on a rumor. A Muggle woman..."

"Yes, telephoned the police." Draco mused, his tone still easy and casual. "Such ridiculous stories these old widows get in their heads, don't you think?" Draco went on before Harry could interject. "Could raise all sorts of flags in the ministry with a story like hers."

He curled his lip, exposing his fangs. They gleamed, sharp and deadly and...mesmerizing. Harry felt a thrill of fear and took another step back. Draco matched his movement, step for step and Harry's pulse trebbled.

"Do you know what it's like to I wake up and realize all the work you'd done, everything you've tried to build; it was all for nothing?" Draco took another step closer and Potter another back, each taking their turn in the strangely intuitive dance of hunter and prey.

"We vampires are a great many things, but upstanding as well-respected are not two of our numerous traits."

He was stalking Harry now, prowling forward, grinning. His eyes were locked onto Harry, tracking him, trapping him. Harry's heart pounded in time with the pulse in his head.

"I decided it would just be better for everyone if I disappeared." 

"What happened?" Harry's voice was little more than an exhalation. Some small part of him knew he should stop this, should stun Malfoy and just take him back to the auror department. But he couldn't think of the right words, the correct motion. Distantly he realized still held his wand, but was uncertain what he should do with it.

"I was fucking a rather fit vampire, if you want to know." Draco said. "We were working together on a...well..." He chuckled. "I I suppose it doesn't really matter anymore, does it? Anyway, he told me he had plans; though he never mentioned I was part of them." The smile wavered for a moment. "I woke up one night and realized I wasn't breathing anymore."

He tilted his head to the side, his expression turned quizzical, almost playful.

"Do you want to know what I did to him?" His eyes widened and his voice somehow became deeper, more penetrating.

Harry felt every syllable in his bones. He grit his teeth and rode out the wave, but came out panting heavily on the other side. 

"I tore him to pieces and gorged myself on his blood." 

"M..." Harry took one final step backwards and found himself up against a wall, the cold crinkled wallpaper leeching warmth from his cloak. "Murder of a sentient magical creature is punishable by life imprisonment in Azkaban."

Malfoy just laughed and another wave of vertigo washed over Harry, this one even more powerful than the last. He trembled and slapped a hand to the wall, trying to brace himself against the onslaught.

"He killed me first." Malfoy didn't seem a bit concerned about his possible punishment. In fact he stepped directly up to Harry, lifting his chin as if daring Harry to take a shot. The pale column of his throat exposed...

...Enticing...

"I..." Harry shook his head, tried to will past the cloying lethargy clutching to his mind. "I can't let you..." He wasn't sure what he was saying. The words were jumbled now, nonsensical.

"Yes you can." Malfoy interrupted. “You will.”

He spoke softly, deeply and his words slapped Harry's whole body like a shockwave, pinning him to the wall with crushing force, imagined or real, Harry didn't know. His fingers scrabbled weakly at loose glue and torn paper, flailing uselessly, like a crushed spider. Blood pounded in his ears.

"It seems you are susceptible to my charms after all.” Draco mused smugly. "How fascinating. I wasn't sure you would be."

Harry felt his wand being pulled from his limp fingers. He tried to tighten his grip, but a fresh wave of sensation poured over him. He trembled and Malfoy eased the wand from his grasp, He heard it clatter to the floor somewhere out in the darkness, beyond the white halo of Draco's hair, past the mesmerizing weight of his eyes.

And then cold fingers were pressed under Harry's chin, angling his face up to look into the triumphant aspect of Draco Malfoy, or at least, this horrible undead version of him.

"How does it feel?" Draco asked, still smug. "Not so ham-fisted as Veela allure or as imprecise as an Imperious Curse, is it? It's a more complete domination of your mind. I bet right now, if I told you the ground is water and you needed to drink it all up, you'd spend the rest of your life trying to chew through these floorboards."

He inspected Harry, turning his head this way; as one would inspect a cake or the marbling on a steak. Harry felt ill.

"It took me nearly a year to get the hang of it. I've been told..." The fingers of Draco's free hand reached up to trace the pulse point at Harry's neck while he tilted Harry's head further back, curving the line of his throat for his gently probing fingers. "...that I'm actually a bit of a prodigy. They suspect it has something to do with my aptitude for Legilimens when I was..." Draco offered Harry a small, self-depreciating smile. "...well, alive.

"I like to think it's because people just want to please me." Draco seemed to expand, every part of him swelled and grew in Harry's mind, deep and mellow and cold. 

Harry shivered as an undercurrent of something hot settled into the thick wash of sensation pulling at his mind and body. And suddenly he could feel something slimy coiled around his thoughts, slowly, inexorably constricting.

"You do want to please me, don't you Harry?"

"N...no..." Harry reached out, planted his hand on Draco's chest, pushed feebly, weakly. He turned his head, tried to wrest his chin from Draco's grasp. It was no use. He couldn't hope to match a vampire's undead strength.

"No...I..." Still, he tried to twist, to wriggle away from the shadows in his mind. "...don't..."

Draco frowned and gripped Harry's chin with bruising force, forcing his head back around, making him meet Draco's flinty eyes. Danger swirled in thunderous grey, dragging Harry deeper, further in, until all Harry knew was the rush of falling and the embrace of cold dead things.

"You want to please me." Draco's voice commanded, an onslaught of sheer will which echoed through him, inside him, emptied him out and filled him up again...with Draco.

He gritted his teeth, closed his eyes against the unrelenting onslaught, but the thing with Draco's face hissed.

"Harry." The voice was pain now, agony seared into his soul and Harry cried out, resisting, turning his head away as if that would shield him from the voice itself. "Look at me." 

Futile.

"I can make it good for you."

"N...n..."

"I can make it go away. I can make it good, so good for you, Harry. But I need you to obey me." Draco sounded so reasonable, so...so reasonable. Like he wanted nothing more than to make Harry happy. Harry felt himself slip, reach out.

"You can do it. Harry..." Draco breathed. "Look at me..."

Harry slipped a little further, a small crack, a single doubt, but it was enough. Draco seized at the fissure and the slithering existence of a dead man poured into him, filled him up until all his thoughts...were Draco's.

Look at me... 

Harry peeled his lids up and whimpered as pleasure flooded him, swift and sure and almost too much. It was accompanied by a sudden relief of pressure in the very marrow of his bones he hadn't even realized was building until he surrendered to it.

He didn't have to fight any more, didn't have to think. Draco would take care of him. Draco would take care of everything. 

Harry sighed, a contented hum and savored the lingering sweetness of pleasure still tingling across his skin.

Draco began to pet him, stroking his cheek and ruffling his hair with cold, dead hands.

"Good boy." Draco crooned almost fondly. "That's it. You're doing well, Harry. You're making me so happy. You want to make me happy, don't you?"

Limply, like a marionette, Harry nodded. It was easy now to say yes, like falling once you’ve stepped off the edge of a cliff.

"It's really quite remarkable." Draco murmured. "This power. It is really quite addictive. The temptation to keep you enthralled, at my beck and call for eternity..." He paused, as if considering the thought. Harry couldn't imagine a better fate: to serve Draco forever.

"But I have no intention of remaining as I am." Draco trailed a hand down Harry's muscular torso. "I fully intend to take back my mortality, my name and all that goes with it."

Draco was watching him closely. His eyes trailed over Harry's face, down the trim line of his robes and back up again. 

I’ve figured out how.” Draco smiled, but it was a smile full of a bitter humor born from too many nights spent alone...and undead. "I can have it all back."

Harry hummed. A small sliver of doubt, like a thread in a tapestry, wove itself through the pattern of his thoughts. 

“I won’t bore you with the details.” Draco reached out to take one of Harry's curly forelocks between his fingers. His knuckles brushed against the scar on Harry’s forehead. “But the ritual’s quite ancient, pagan really. From an age when blood and fertility magic was at its most potent.”

A single, pervasive thought blossomed in Harry’s brain, a simple, yet utterly terrifying revelation: Draco is going to kill us all. 

The idea rooted itself into his mind and grew, driving out the warmth, the contentedness, but he still could not think, could not move, could not to anything but stand where he was, shivering with absolute horrified terror. 

Draco grasped Harry by the shirt-front and tossed him into the room. Harry stumbled and fell heavily to his hands and knees. He found himself in the middle of a circle, likely the same one he'd noticed when he'd first entered the room. The air around him smelled of copper and Harry realized it had been painted in blood, browned and crusted with age and cold. Harry thought he could make out scrawling symbols along the outside edge of the shape, glyphs and symbols from a dozen languages Harry didn't recognize. 

"Stay." Draco purred, rooting Harry to the spot before disappearing into the deeper darkness.

It wasn't difficult to figure out what Draco was doing. Blood sacrifice, ancient rites, vampire... But Harry couldn't do anything, couldn't move, couldn't do more than listen for footsteps, for the anguished sobbing of his comrades. He heard it, heard them all, every muttered curse, the inevitable, all too brief flurry of rustling garments and then after a long, pregnant pause, the dropping of dead weight. 

Rage caught in his chest. A thick, cloying furry that etched him a foothold into the mountain of Draco's will. It wasn't nearly enough to break the charm, but it was enough to think, one spare, hateful thought at a time.

A motion to his left caught his eye. Harry glanced up and saw Draco.

The thing’s eyes glowed like quicksilver, bright with power, overflowing with the life-force on which he’d just gorged himself. Draco walked with purpose...unhurried. Towards the circle. Towards Harry.

It was his turn to be sacrificed, The main event it would seem. Harry felt his pulse quicken as the vampire drew steadily nearer, fangs bared, still stained red streaked saliva.

Draco stepped up to Harry, rumpled and spattered with flecks that gleamed black in the dark. He licked the corner of his mouth and his fang shown, glazed with milky pink. Harry felt hot salt sting his eyes. He could not cry, not without Draco's permission, but they burned for his colleagues, at the corners of his eyes, unable to be shed. 

"It's time, Harry."

“Can’t…” Harry whispered, shocking both Draco and himself, but he clung to his foothold of grief and outrage, letting it fuel this tiny bit of freedom. “…explain-nnn…four dead…aurors. M-ministry will investiga-te.”

Draco drew himself up, looking down at Harry, amusement twinkling in his eyes. “Of course they will, Potter. But they'll be looking for a vampire...won't they?”

Harry’s heart sank.

It was true. The aurors would see this place, the destruction and death and begin searching for the vampire responsible. But if Draco was right, once this ritual was complete, that vampire would no longer exist. 

Harry swallowed hard and felt the creature kneel down behind him. Draco's icy hand touched lightly at Harry's throat, holding, but not constraining. Harry was being guided upright, until his back was plastered against the vampire's unyielding body. The cool softness of Draco's lips traced up the back of Harry's neck and over the shell of his ear before dipping down to where his pulse thrummed.

"You smell good Harry...so good." Draco's lips pressed into the hot flesh, moving back and forth, creating a trail of cold along Harry's neck and shoulder.

"Will you taste like sunlight?" Draco wondered aloud, whispering against his skin. "Or water? Or breathing? You’re going to help me breath, you want to help me breath again, don’t you, Potter?”

Draco's tongue teased, just touching the pulse point. His voice echoed like before, the weird warbling that made Harry want everything Draco wanted. The charm, the allure twining its way around Harry’s being, painting over, but not completely dissolving, the last of his resistance.

“Yes…” Harry murmured. “…want to…help…”

Draco’s hand came away from his throat, carded through Harry's curls before grasping them and cruelly wrenching Harry's head back to better expose his jugular..

“Good.”

He struck like a serpent, burying his fangs into Harry's throat. And the circle around them began to glow. Softly effervescent at first, with every pull and swallow of Draco's mouth, the light became bolder. It was not bright light, it did not illuminate or shine, but it radiated outwards with a presence that was almost palpable.

Harry keened in pain and grabbed at Draco's head with his free hands, bunching the fine hair, riding out the initial shock of the bite.

Draco moaned, a long, low sound of pure pleasure while he continued to pull mouthfuls of Harry into his distended belly, gorging himself on life. It seemed to go on for hours, for days and Harry was powerless to do more than kneel and be victim whilst he listened to the rush of white noise in his ears.

The circle pulsed and hummed angrily and Draco eased back, laving broad even strokes of his tongue across the puncture wounds in Harry’s flesh.

“Why aren’t you…?” Harry asked. “…killing me too?” He wasn’t worried anymore, just curious. Draco had eaten Fennik Jorgin and Dawlish without a second thought, seemed content to toy with Harry.

Draco reached around and rent the clothing from Harry’s body, shredding it with his nails and leaving a ragged halo around them. He planted his hand in the middle of Harry's back, forcing his chest to the ground, his knees still planted firmly, his hips upraised.

Harry turned his cheek to press into the unforgiving wood to stare at the faded wallpaper. He traced the wane shape of peonies and felt Draco , an indomitable force, grasping him, holding him down, stretching himself over Harry’s back to whisper in Harry’s ear.

“I never said I was going to kill you, Potter.”

Harry felt pressure against his ass, firm and hot and Harry understood; the thoughts coming to him, softly, distantly, almost as though they were being thought by another person and poured into his mind.

A sex rite; fueled by blood and human sacrifice. One of the oldest forms of magic, wild and savage and untamable. Even during the height of it's power, its most proficient priests and priestesses had never fully mastered the art, the cruel, unshappable power of their rituals

“This will…” Harry whispered against icy, blood-flecked floor. “…help you.”

He felt Draco pause and then the hot length of him disappeared from the back of Harry's thigh. A small shaft of wood was pressed into Harry’s hand and Harry frowned. He could tell just by the feel of it that it was his wand, but he didn't understand why Draco was giving this to him now. Did he want Harry to try and incapacitate him?

“Make yourself ready.” Draco said. Still, Harry lay immobile, confused. Was this part of the ritual?

Behind him Draco growled in warning. "I said: make yourself ready for me."

Harry nodded, still curious, still wondering, but Draco's words compelled him past that uncertainty. He muttered the correct incantation, the one no one was supposed to know he knew and he groaned at the sudden sensation of wetness between his legs. It had been a long time since he’s been here, his ass in the air, waiting for the inevitable slide of something hot and heavy inside of him. This at least is familiar, the practice if not the environment. The hot coals of rage still burn in his gut, but they're muted by the beginnings of arousal. His mind slowly detached, divorced from his body, ready for the pleasure. He was almost...anticipating it.

A hand grabbed his hips, another in the middle of his back, between his shoulder blades and he’s pinned down. He can’t see Draco’s face, but he felt the same pressure as before, the thick swollen flesh of him.

There is no preamble this time, just the pressure as Draco fights his way into Harry. It’s hot and relentless and almost too much.

Harry let out a mewling groan, reaching an arm back, clawing blindly at Draco’s arms, hands, chest, whatever he could reach.

Draco gave him no time to adjust to the intrusion and began to thrust almost as soon as he was fully seated inside of Harry. The pressure turned molten, lighting up nerves endings, a cacophony of too much and not nearly enough and Harry could not escape, couldn’t do anything but writhe and shout out in his confused pleasure-pain.

Behind him, distantly he registered the slow unfurling of pain scoring his back, so insignificantly tiny compared to the wash of sensation into which he’d been dropped he almost didn’t notice it at all.

But Harry did notice the wet heat of Draco’s mouth closing around the small pinpricks of pain and Draco began to drink from Harry anew, grunting around each mouthful, his hips pumping like a machine. Harry was being dragged, through the sheer force of Draco’s inexhaustible undead body, to the crest, a terrifying pinnacle to which he’d never before climbed. The heat of it, the weight of Draco inside him, touching him where no other creature had, the numbness of his thoughts, the giddy pleasure of knowing he was doing exactly what Draco wanted him to do.

Harry slowly lost his mind.

One hand caught in the fine silk of Draco’s shirt-sleeve, the other flopped limply to the floor, digging chunks out of the frozen floorboards. Harry felt wetness on his cheeks and mouth, the salt of tears finally shed on his tongue. The condensation from his panting had frozen, creating a iridescent pattern of crystals across the dilapidated planks.

Harry felt wrecked, his nerves begging for relief, a break, a moment to collect himself, but Harry was trapped, powerless against the unrelenting snap of Draco’s hip. 

His fingers and toes began to tingle and go numb. He wondered how much blood Draco had taken from him. 

"Cibo enim mortuus fuero..." Draco says wetly against Harry's skin. 

The sensation of pleasure changes. It’s no less more or less pleasure, but there’s an undercurrent of heat to it that took Harry by surprise. It’s a warmth, settled low in his belly, not orgasm or arousal, it’s a separate feeling, heat and gradually growing hotter, spreading outward until his whole body is suffused with it. The pulsing ring around them is dancing madly, snapping angrily at the air.

"...Ego bibo inanes..."

That warmth grew blinding until it became pain then tipped over into agony, almost overshadowing the pleasure from Draco's snapping hips.

Harry seethed through it, hissing mindless curses and disjointed cries. He didn’t understand what was happening. It felt like he was being burned alive. 

His magic roiled, almost physically twisting the air around him, charging the very air with sparks and shimmering heat waves he can see behind his closed eyelids.

Draco extracted his mouth from Harry’s skin and panted. “Morior impleri volo.…”

Harry sensed Draco’s magic reaching out to touch his, weak at first, stretched thin, as though it were travelling a great distance. But it touched and then grasped, mingling with Harry’s, fed off its own inherent might and grew stronger.

“Yes…Harry…” Draco sounded…socked, overjoyed, breathless… He reared up and adjusted his grip on Harry’s hips. His palms were slick and Harry heard him swallow and gasp and the thrusts, which had up to that moment maintained a brutally hard rhythm, stuttered.

Harry felt the moment Draco touched and gathered their combined magics to himself. All of the warmth was pulled almost physically out of Harry like a vacuum, suctioning it into Draco. The symbols peeled themselves off the floor, They lept wildly, glowing white hot, showering sparks and radiating energy with the intensity of a supernova. They spun together, into one blinding spiral, descending upon Draco with ravenous intensity. 

“Yes!” Draco’s hands slipped off of Harry skin, his hips still battering against Harry’s ass. “Yes!”

Pleasure screamed back to them both and for one indelible moment they were connected, one being, sharing one breath, one mind, one ecstasy. Harry felt the splatter of heat against his belly as his mind shattered in a cascade of sparks and radiant light.

The air itself ignited. 

Light and heat and magic, a storm that whirled like Fiend Fyre and was twice again as hot. Harry felt Draco’s semen splatter inside him as the power rushed in, coalescing into a single point: Draco’s body.

And then the entire world fell silent. The magic was gone from the room, no trace of it lingered. Harry felt shaken and drained to the core. He felt weak, and not just physically; totally and utterly depleted. Harry felt his hips slide gracelessly to the floor. The tears on his face were slowly freezing and he realized somewhere along the way his body had stopped shivering.

Draco slipped from him and fluid trickled unpleasantly down his thighs. Harry closed his eyes. Sleep threatened to overwhelm him completely. But the fog in his mind was evaporating quickly, offering clarity to his muddy thoughts.

He felt fingers card through his hair, warm, almost scorching where they trailed along his scalp.

“Thank you, Harry.” Draco whispered and leaned in to kiss him.

It was softness, sweetness, a whisper of pressure against Harry's lips; unlike everything Draco had done right up until that moment. Harry was caught, socked and struck dumb while his brain tried to process the implications even as it utterly rebelled against them.

Draco pulled back, just enough to rest his forehead against Harry’s. His eyes were closed, his mouth twisted down in a grimace of absolute contrition.

“And...I'm sorry.”

Harry didn’t realize Draco was casting, hadn't felt Draco slip his wand from his grasp the second time, until he heard the word ‘Obliviate’ whispered against his lips. 

And all of his hate and all of his confusion was lost to the void.

Harry wakes with a jerk, confused, his memory cloudy and vague. He recognizes the smoothly textured ceiling of St. Mungo's; he's been here enough. But how he'd come to be here...was a confounding blank. 

"Harry." Hermione whispers softly beside him, squeezes his hand gently. She sounds relieved. 

"What..." His throat is dry, his voice cracks. Harry clears his throat. Hermione offers him a cup of lukewarm water from the pitcher on his bedside table. 

"What happened?" His voice is still rough.

Hermione's lips press together. She looks sad, a little worried. "You lost a lot of blood. The Healers said there was a chance you might suffer some memory loss. How..." She swallows thickly. "How much do you remember?" 

Harry lets his eyes flick back to the ceiling, his mind wander. "There was a raid." He whispers. "And a..vampire?" His brows furrow. He isn't sure about that, recalls vague shadows, the impression of a creature, bloody and fanged, pale and inhumanly strong. And death, he remembers death, the crack of bone, the stench of blood...

"What happened?" He repeats, turning to stare at his friend.

Hermione pours another glass of the tepid water. Her voice is soft when she helps him drink.

"Aurors found the remains of Dawlish, Fenik and Jorgin at the house. They also found bits of ashy soot, consistent with vampiric remains and..." She squeezes his hand. "...Draco Malfoy."

"What was he...?"

"He said he'd been kept there." Hermione supplied. "That the vampire had been feeding off of him for years until the four of you arrived." There are tears in her eyes, she's blinking hard to keep them back. "He's back home now, a little malnourished, but otherwise healthy. Mrs. Malfoy is telling everyone the aurors are heroes."

Harry turns his face away. His eyes burn. 

Heroes...

"I'm glad..." He starts. "...he's okay." 

"You all saved him, Harry." Hermione assures him, places a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sure the others would agree it's worth the sacrifice."

"Yeah." Harry agrees and hates that it's true. "You're right."

**Author's Note:**

> Gemini, you've convinced me to change the ending. And you may also have inspired a follow-up fic. It will probably be out in May or June so keep your eyes peeled everyone! :D  
> Reviews are loved. Let me know what I did well and what you think I can improve.  
> Thank you for reading!  
> Until next time!
> 
> SoY-


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